This Freaking Case
by Sarah1281
Summary: Mike and Lennie are faced with perhaps the most ridiculous case they've ever faced complete with the most unhelpful witnesses possible. The suspect keeps confessing but confessions somehow never manage to stick, do they? Jack's certain that judges shouldn't flip a coin to make rulings but even without any admissible evidence and Paul with the defense he still intends to win.


This Freaking Case

Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order.

Note: This is a parody and should be viewed as such.

"I'm just saying that I don't think it's very likely," Officer Brown said as he and his partner walked up to the diner they were planning on having lunch in.

"It doesn't matter if it's likely if it happens," Officer Kent argued. "It's unlikely that you'll get hit by lightning or win the lotto and yet if it happens to you then it happens to you."

"I won the lotto once," Brown remarked casually.

Kent stopped and turned to stare at him.

"Or _a_ lotto, at least," Brown amended. "I got five hundred bucks. Good thing, too, because my daughter had just started high school and needed a whole new wardrobe or something…"

"Well there you go then," Kent said, nodding sagely. "It does happen."

"New York City might have more murders than your average New York-sized piece of land but saying that half of all murders are personally discovered by cops patrolling or just happening to wander by strikes me as rather absurd," Brown insisted.

Kent shrugged. "What can I say? We have a very caring populace."

"No, seriously," Brown said, frowning, as he opened the door to the diner and stepped in.

Kent caught the door right before it hit him in the face. "Seriously? They probably just don't want to get involved. You know that the person who calls it in is always questioned and if they know the dead guy then they're a suspect."

Brown reached into his pocket for his wallet. "That's still no reason to…" He stopped short as his keys fell out of his pocket. Cursing lightly, he bent over and saw a foot behind the counter. "Huh. I guess it really _does_ happen."

* * *

"What have we got?" Lennie asked as he walked through the door, Mike trailing just behind him.

"Clayton Eisele, 38," Brown said, gesturing to the victim. "His skull's just about caved in."

"The poet?" Mike asked, surprised. "My girlfriend's really into him."

"It's a little hard to tell but I think so, yeah," Brown confirmed.

"Popular diner in the middle of the day?" Mike asked rhetorically. "There have got to be witnesses."

Brown made a face. "Ah, 'witnesses.'"

"What?" Mike asked, getting the feeling he would not like the answer.

"There were four customers in here when we got here as well as the diner owner and a waitress," Brown informed them. "They claim that they didn't see anything."

"The customers I can see, _maybe_," Lennie replied. "They might have gotten here after Eisele was whacked. The owner and the waitress, though? I'm not buying it."

"I wouldn't buy the customers' story, either," Brown said grimly. "There's blood on their table."

Lennie groaned. "Perfect. And nobody saw nothing."

"They didn't even move," Brown confirmed.

"Do we have a murder weapon?" Mike inquired.

Brown sighed heavily.

"What?" Mike asked suspiciously.

"We have…well, we have six possible murder weapons," Brown admitted. "A knife, some rope, a wrench, a lead pipe, a gun, and a candle stick."

Lennie shook his head. "What is this, Clue?"

* * *

Mike was sitting down with the waitress, Kelsey Atwater, and the diner owner, Roberto Mccaw.

"So you have no idea how a dead man appeared behind your counter?" he asked skeptically.

Roberto shook his head. "I never said that."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "So you _do _know something."

"Well of course we do," Kelsey said, looking at him as if he were an idiot. "How are we not supposed to notice some dead guy behind the counter? We had to step over him."

At least they hadn't actually stepped _on _him. That was a little respect for the dead, it seemed.

"And how did Eisele get behind the counter?" Mike asked again.

"We put him there," Kelsey explained.

Mike blinked. "You…what?"

"We put him there," Kelsey repeated impatiently.

"Are you telling me that you killed him?" Mike asked, surprised.

Roberto shook his head. "Of course not!"

"No, you just put a body behind your counter," Mike said dryly.

"We had to," Roberto insisted. "He was just lying in the middle of the diner with blood everywhere and he was upsetting the customers! This way he was nice and out of the way."

Mike closed his eyes briefly. "Let me get this straight…You found a dead body in the middle of your diner and you decided not to call this police."

"That is correct," Roberto confirmed.

"And furthermore, you sabotaged a crime scene by moving the body and washing away all the blood," Mike continued.

"I don't know about you, Detective, but here at the diner we're expected to maintain a certain degree of sanitation," Kelsey said snidely. "We can't just leave blood all over the floor. And even if we could, do you really think that people would want to eat here? Think!"

"You were supposed to call the police!" Mike exclaimed.

"Why?" Kelsey asked blankly.

"Because it's the law!" he told them.

Kelsey shrugged. "You're here now, aren't you? So we really didn't have to do anything."

"How long were you just going to leave him like that before you called yourself?" Mike demanded.

"We were confident that sooner or later someone would report it. If not, maybe after we closed I might have done something," Roberto offered.

"Why didn't you call the police the minute you discovered the body?" Mike pressed.

"We really don't like getting mixed up with the police," Roberto confided. "It's bad for business."

"Do you know what else is bad for business?" Mike asked rhetorically. "Having a dead body in the middle of the floor!"

"That's why we moved it," Kelsey said pointedly. "And none of this is as bad for business as you closing us down to make your little crime scene or whatever so can you please hurry this up?"

"You know that getting rid of evidence is a crime, don't you?" Mike asked them.

"I didn't get rid of evidence," Roberto insisted. "The dead guy's still here, isn't he?"

"But the _blood_ isn't!" Mike cried out, frustrated. "And who knows what other evidence you destroyed when you moved the body?"

Across the restaurant, Lennie wasn't having much better luck with the customers.

Dustin Sydow, Daphne Berrian, Caitlin Marrin, and Tim Weide were apparently all on a lunch break from the bank one block over.

"Was the body here when you walked in?" Lennie asked.

Dustin shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't see it at any rate."

The other three quickly chimed in their agreement.

"Did you see the crime take place?" Lennie inquired.

"No, definitely not," Caitlin replied.

"Forgive me for finding that a little hard to believe considering that you have blood on your table," Lennie said matter-of-factly.

"It's not their fault," Tim insisted. "They offered to wipe it off for us but we figured that we could just eat around it. It wasn't on our plates or anything so we just decided not to touch it."

"It's not that we're not conscious of AIDS and things like that but you have to touch it and we didn't," Daphne spoke up. "It really wasn't a big deal."

"I'm having a little bit of difficulty reconciling how the crime could have taken place after you arrived and yet you didn't see anything," Lennie told them.

"Maybe we were in the bathroom," Daphne suggested.

"All four of you?" Lennie asked skeptically.

"That does seem the reasonable conclusion," Dustin agreed.

"Do you know how blood managed to be found on your table and yet nowhere else? And how the victim could have been found behind the counter with the blood on your table?" Lennie asked them.

"Oh, the body was right by our table, actually," Caitlin informed him. "But I figured that the blood was one thing and having a dead body right there was a little much so I complained and the people who worked here moved it."

"You know that that's a crime, don't you?" Lennie asked, feeling a headache coming on.

Caitlin shrugged. "What's the big deal? _We _didn't move it."

"You also didn't call 911," Lennie pointed out.

"We might have gotten around to it," Tim said indifferently. "But we figured that that would take a lot of time and we didn't want to be late getting back to work…like we are right now…"

"When the people who worked here moved the body, did they also clean up the blood?" Lennie asked. "Aside from the blood on your table, of course."

"Naturally," Daphne said, beginning to look like she was doubting his intelligence. "What would be the point of moving the body if they didn't get rid of the blood? And they could mop the floor without bothering us."

"Did you see them do this?" Lennie inquired.

Tim shrugged. "I guess but it was sort of in the background because it wasn't very interesting."

"Did you also see them washing the murder weapon?" Lennie asked. "Assuming that one of the objects we found by the body was the murder weapon."

"Not exactly," Dustin replied. "They took those to the kitchen to clean."

"But you did see which one of them had blood on it?" Lennie pushed.

"They all had blood on them," Daphne told him. "The killer must have dipped the non-weapons in blood or something."

"He could have hit the guy with all of the weapons but the rope, for one, wouldn't have really done anything," Tim added. "And I don't even know what the point is of hitting someone with a knife."

"How do you know that Eisele was killed by being hit over the head?" Lennie asked suspiciously.

Tim shrugged. "You and those other guys were just talking about it. This diner really isn't all that big, you know."

"I don't know why they bothered washing out that rope," Caitlin remarked. "I mean, is it really going to ever be the same again? They should have just thrown it away."

"No, they should have called the police," Lennie said, irritated. "You all should have."

* * *

"Clayton Eisele real name Jonathon Boddy," Mike said, hanging up the phone. "He had two convictions for possession."

"So we have a Mr. Boddy killed by one of the six murder weapons from Clue," Lennie said, groaning. "This can't be a coincidence."

"You think we have some kind of nut?" Mike asked.

"I think that everyone there is some kind of nut," Lennie replied. "What's one more? And I'd hope that our murderer is at least as crazy as our witnesses."

"Not that they'll admit to being witnesses," Mike pointed out.

"No, of course not," Lennie said disgustedly. "They were just there at the time of the murder and didn't see anything."

"At least we can charge Kelsey and Roberto with destroying a crime scene," Mike told him.

"I wish we could get the others but apparently they were all in the bathroom," Lennie replied.

"I just…I don't get how people can be so _unhelpful_," Mike admitted, shaking his head helplessly. "Even when people are intimidated when organized crime is involved they're not _this_ blind."

"Apathy thy name is New York," Lennie pronounced. "Do we know anything about this Eisele? Maybe not everyone knew about his name change. Not everyone knows who Samuel Clemens is and he was a lot more famous."

"Mark Twain died eighty years ago," Mike countered. "I have read a little of his work. Nothing all that great, kind of pretentious actually."

"He is a poet," Lennie said tolerantly. "Poetry's not really your thing, Mike. Is it because of your girlfriend?"

"My ex," Mike corrected absently. "And yes, Kelly was very into that kind of thing. Of course, she was kind of pretentious, too, so I can see where she'd see the attraction."

Lennie drew back. "A couple of hours ago she was your girlfriend and now she's your ex?"

"That is how these things tend to work," Mike replied. "Breaking up might be an impulse decision or the result of weeks of agonizing and a lengthy conversation but the actual breaking up part is very quick. You just say 'I want to break up' and it's over no matter how long the conversation lasts."

"But when did you even have time to break up with her?" Lennie demanded.

"She stopped by and brought me lunch," Mike explained.

"And you broke up with her over that?" Lennie couldn't believe it.

Mike shook his head. "No, of course not because that would be ridiculous."

"Then what happened?" Lennie asked.

"She told me that she really liked me," Mike confided. "_And _she knew when my birthday was!"

"I'm…not really seeing a problem," Lennie confessed.

"It was clearly getting far too serious and I had best just end it before she went crazy and wanted to see where I lived or expected me to introduce her to anyone or something," Mike declared.

"And you still ate the lunch?" Lennie asked dubiously.

"What?" Mike asked, shrugging. "She's a really good cook and I've seen her make food before. It takes her _forever_. What kind of a person would just throw away a perfectly good lunch that she spent ages on just because they never want to see her again?"

"You have a problem," Lennie declared.

"In what universe is wanting to date every single and beautiful woman that I meet a problem?" Mike wondered.

"Wanting to isn't the problem, no," Lennie told him. "In fact, I think it's an admirable desire. It's just that I think you might actually achieve that goal that's the problem."

"It was just starting to feel clingy," Mike claimed. "I mean, she knows my birthday? I never told her my birthday. What's next, breaking my leg and keeping me locked up in some cabin in the middle of nowhere?"

"I think you might be missing a few steps there," Lennie said delicately.

"I have great instincts," Mike insisted. "And trust me, I've had a few girlfriends who didn't take being dumped well."

"Somehow this does not surprise me," Lennie said, shaking his head.

* * *

"It turns out that, due to a robbery a few months back, that diner has a video camera and it was active at the time of the killing," Mike announced.

Van Buren nodded. "I see. Did you Mirandize the diner owner?"

"Four times with witnesses and sworn affidavits," Lennie confirmed. "We also personally called a lawyer for him when he didn't want one."

"Okay so there's a fifty percent chance that this will hold up in court," Van Buren reasoned. "Perhaps slightly higher since he's not actually a suspect."

"He might be depending on what's on that tape," Mike told her.

"Go and get that tape," Van Buren ordered. "He volunteered the use of it but let's get a subpoena anyway so we'll probably be able to use it in court."

"Got it," Lennie said, nodding.

"Mr. Boddy, the six weapons…It could all just be a red herring-" Van Buren began.

"Much like Communism," Mike murmured.

"Or someone's going through an awful lot of trouble to force us to play a real-life version of Clue," she said slowly.

"It's not exactly the same," Mike pointed out. "Unless there's something wrong with the tape we'll see who committed it so we don't have a list of a handful of suspects to choose from. And we know which room the dead body was killed in, as well, even if it was moved."

"I've never really understood that," Lennie complained. "What kind of real investigation involves not knowing where the body is or what weapon was used to kill them? The wrench, pipe, and candlestick might be interchangeable but you know that if someone was shot, stabbed, or hung then the signs will be clear even to a layman."

"Have the lab look at the weapons," Van Buren ordered. "They might all have had blood on them and have been washed off but there might still be traces that indicate which one was the murder weapon."

Lennie and Mike nodded and then turned to go.

"Do you ever get the feeling that Van Buren thinks we're really really stupid?" Mike asked after the door had shut behind them.

Lennie frowned. "What do you mean?"

" 'Check the tape of the crime' 'Have the lab look at the murder weapons'…We've been doing this for more than a couple of years now," Mike pointed out. "I get that she's trying to be helpful but her advice is usually really, really obvious things we were already going to do."

"Well all I know is she certainly doesn't think that _I'm _an idiot," Lennie informed him.

"Hey!"

* * *

"No audio, of course," the video guy informed them. "But if you see the murder then you see the murder regardless of what anybody was saying."

"I still don't see why I needed to get a judge to subpoena this since your diner owner offered to let you look at it," Claire said bemused.

"And I don't see how Mike managed to get a new girlfriend on our walk up from parking the car but it happened," Lennie replied.

"We're just getting kind of sick of all of our evidence always being thrown out and so we're trying to avoid it this time," Mike explained. "And it's called sex appeal, Lennie. I'm sure they still had that back in your day."

Claire narrowed her eyes. "Maybe if your evidence was gathered through proper channels then it would be thrown out less often."

"Have we _ever_ had a confession stick?" Mike demanded. "Why do we even bother getting them?"

"I live for the day where we can end a case with a confession," Lennie said wistfully.

"It's really not that bad," Claire tried to assure them.

"Last week you told us that they threw out a confession because the mook asked for his son and, despite his son being a convicted felon serving another five years in Attica, his lawyer claimed that he believed that his son was a lawyer and so that didn't count," Lennie argued.

"And then there was that time that the guy asked for his lawyer by name – not _a _lawyer but that one – and it turned out that not only was the guy dead for two years but the guy had delivered the eulogy. His lawyer had the confession thrown out because the dead lawyer wasn't called in," Mike added.

"I…will admit that sometimes things don't go the way we want them to," Claire conceded reluctantly. "Jack was very upset about it."

"And then he made us convince the guy that he was stuck in a Groundhog Day situation by coming in and out of the interrogation room and pretending we hadn't done the interrogation yet," Mike recalled. "Effective but Liz still isn't speaking to us."

"There's nothing in the law that says the police can't gaslight a suspect," Claire said, shrugging. "Or at least the man's lawyer didn't find anything and it wasn't our job to look."

"I've got it," the video guy spoke up. He hit the play button and they watched as Eisele walked into the diner and speak to Kelsey, probably placing an order. He had just gotten his food and was going to his table when a black girl appeared on the screen, pulled a weapon out of her bag, and hit Eisele over the head repeatedly while the six witnesses looked on, fascinated.

"So much for being in the bathroom," Lennie commented.

"Get us a print-out of her," Mike ordered. "We'll ask around the neighborhood."

* * *

"Okay, so now that we've got a name and an arrest warrant we need to plan the perfect time to pick her up," Lennie declared.

"She sings in her church's choir," Mike suggested. "How about we interrupt the service to take her in?"

"Oh, that's good," Lennie said approvingly. "But she also gets a hotel room with her boyfriend every Thursday night. We could arrest her then and drag her out in the middle of that."

"I've got the perfect one!" Mike said triumphantly. "She's giving a press conference tomorrow afternoon. Let's arrest her right in the middle of it."

"That should have the maximum effect," Lennie said pleased, leaning back in his chair.

Profaci walked up to their desks. "Some reason you can't just arrest her wherever she happens to be now or at her home or something like a normal person?"

Mike shrugged. "We do a lot of arrests. Sometimes we like to change it up."

"We like to challenge ourselves," Lennie added. "Get creative."

Profaci shook his head. "If you guys say so. Listen, can one of you answer the phones for the next fifteen minutes or so? I've got a mob call coming in and I don't expect that I'll get any less busy after that."

"Will do," Mike agreed.

* * *

"I don't know what you've got me in here for," Corinne Baskerville sulked, slouching down in her chair. "I didn't kill Boddy."

"We never told you that we were looking for a murderer or that Boddy was involved," Mike pointed out.

"And?" Corinne asked, disinterested.

"And that's the kind of thing that only the murderer would know," Mike continued.

"Can you _prove_ that?" she challenged.

"We just heard you," Lennie told her.

Corinne rolled her eyes. "Right like the police aren't above lying so that they can arrest someone."

"We have you on tape," Mike said, sliding a few printed frames from the tape across the table to her. "We have several witnesses who can ID you. We know that you did it and we can prove it. We'd just like to know _why_."

"Well I don't want to tell you why I killed him," Corinne said stubbornly.

"Is that a confession?" Lennie asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I guess so. I'd like a lawyer," Corinne announced.

"We could get you a lawyer," Lennie agreed. "But then we wouldn't be able to make a deal with you."

"You can't make a deal with me anyway, you're not a lawyer," Corinne pointed out. "And if you can get me one than get me one."

"In a minute," Mike told her. "So about this confession-"

"No, not 'in a minute'," Corinne interrupted. "I said that I wanted a lawyer and so get me my goddamn lawyer."

"Are you sure you want one? Things won't go so well if you have a lawyer," Lennie warned.

"Are you threatening me? Get me my freaking lawyer!" Corinne exclaimed.

"But if you just finish confessing then we can get it all sorted out," Mike said persuasively.

"What, am I stupid? You people want to nail me for that murder I committed. You don't want to help me. And I can tell you everything about the murder if I want because I'm being denied my right to a lawyer," Corrine declared.

"But what about-" Lennie started to say.

Corinne started to chant 'lawyer' repeatedly.

Lennie sighed. "Fine. I'll get you your lawyer."

"He might be on his way over, actually," Corinne said thoughtfully. "I did call him when I saw you guys coming."

Van Buren opened the door and gestured for them to go to her.

Lennie stood up and followed her out while Mike stayed with Corinne.

"Ms. Baskerville's lawyer," Van Buren said, gesturing to a lawyer that Lennie knew well.

"Paul!" Lennie exclaimed, surprised. "What are you doing here? Last I heard you went to work on Wall Street."

Paul shrugged. "It didn't work out."

"And you didn't think about coming back over to our side?" Lennie asked.

"I did but Ben had already left the DA's office and Jack McCoy already had an assistant – and a reputation – so I figured why not try defense?" Paul asked rhetorically.

"I'm definitely not looking to change careers," Claire spoke up. "Jack and I work well together."

"He always works better with female assistants," Paul said, rolling his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire demanded.

"Just that I've heard that he works better with people he likes and he's twice as likely to like you if he's attracted to you," Paul explained. "But that's really on him and not you."

Claire looked unconvinced.

"So how have you been?" Paul asked, turning back to Lennie.

"Pretty good," Lennie told him.

"I see you haven't gotten shot yet," Paul noted.

Lennie laughed. "No, not yet. But don't mention that to Mike. He still doesn't find the humor in the situation."

"If I recall correctly, you were finding the humor in it your first case together," Paul replied.

Lennie shrugged. "What can I say? It was either that or upping my life insurance policy. You know, things were a little chaotic after Ben left and Jack showed up but it's working for us. Jack's very…enthusiastic."

Paul got a knowing look. "So I've heard."

"You know that I've never quite forgiven you for leaving the minute you heard that I was talking Don Cragen's job," Van Buren said teasingly.

Paul smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I heard about that. If I had known that Don was transferring I would have put off resigning for a few weeks, Anita."

"Since Mike's not here right now I'll ask for him. 'Anita? Why does he get to call you Anita?'" Lennie inquired.

"That's privileged," Paul said smoothly.

Lennie made a face. "Ah, lawyer talk. My favorite part of the job."

"So you suspect my client of having committed that diner murder?" Paul asked, getting down to business.

"It's as little more than 'suspect'," Van Buren told him gravely. "We have her DNA at the crime scene, several witnesses to the murder, and the murder was caught on tape."

"Then there's the fact that she confessed," Lennie added.

"We'll see," Paul said curtly. "I'd like to speak with-" He glanced over at the interrogation room and stopped cold. "What in the…?"

Corinne was staring horrified at Mike and slowly backing her chair away from him while Mike looked impatiently at his watch.

Van Buren went to the door again. "Mike?"

Mike obediently left the room.

"What the hell did you do to my client?" Paul demanded.

"It's good to see you too, Paul," Mike replied sardonically. "I see the defense business is suiting you well."

"Wait, you knew about that?" Lennie demanded. "How did you know that and I didn't?"

"We go way back," Mike claimed. "And I didn't do anything to your client."

"She looks traumatized," Paul pointed out.

"I didn't touch her and I didn't threaten her," Mike insisted. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I'll ask her what happened, if you don't mind," Paul declared. "And I'd appreciate it if you weren't around when that happened."

Mike shrugged. "Fine by me. Lennie?"

Lennie nodded. "Yeah, I've got this."

Lennie, Paul, and Claire went into the room.

"Don't let that detective back in here with me!" Corinne said immediately.

"We won't," Paul assured her. "Now what did he do to you?"

"Well…nothing, really," Corrine admitted. "But he looked like he wanted to punch me!"

"Mike looks like he wants to punch everybody," Lennie said indifferently. "But he very rarely does it."

"Does he still have that list of people he's morally obligated to punch if he ever comes across them?" Paul asked.

"I don't know," Lennie lied.

"Are you sure? Because there were a lot of people on that list. Gilbert Gottfried, Kevin Crossley, Scott Thompson-" Paul started to say.

"But even if that were true," Claire quickly cut him off. "I think we can all agree that Corrine Baskerville is not on that list."

"I think I'd like to see that list again and make sure he hasn't added her," Paul murmured.

"He didn't do anything so it doesn't matter," Lennie insisted.

"Just make sure he's not alone with her," Paul instructed.

"This is boring," Corinne said, yawning. "If I tell you that I killed him then can I go?"

"Corinne, I really don't advise this," Paul told her seriously.

"That's great," Corinne said disinterestedly.

"Why did you kill him?" Claire asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Corinne laughed. "His name was _Mr. Boddy_. Where else was I going to find another Mr. Boddy? It was the opportunity of a lifetime!"

"Because of Clue," Lennie prompted.

Corinne nodded. "I always promised myself that if I ever got the chance that I'd reenact one board game someday. It's Mr. Boddy's bad luck that I found him before I found a Princess Lolly."

"Which weapon did you use?" Lennie asked her.

Corinne smirked at him. "Detective! I'm surprised at you! You know that that's not how this works. _You _have to tell me. You might have the who and the where but the what's just as important. And unlike in the game you actually got to see the body."

"I've heard enough," Claire announced. "Arrest her."

Lennie stood up and took out his handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent…"

* * *

"Sorry," Dustin said, not looking sorry at all. "But I've never seen any of these people before in my life."

"And that's 0 for 6," Paul said smugly. "Your case is getting thinner by the minute. This line-up was a great idea, by the way."

"What do you mean you've never seen them before?" Mike demanded. "We have you on tape watching one of these people murdering Eisele!"

"No, that wasn't me," Dustin insisted.

Mike grabbed a piece of paper from Van Buren's clipboard and, covering Corinne, shoved it in Dustin's face. "This is you right here!"

"Is that really what I look like from that angle?" Dustin asked, a little upset. "I mean, um, that's not me. Clearly it's not."

"You're lying!" Mike accused.

"Now Detective, if he said he didn't see anything then he didn't see anything," Paul said smugly. "I take it this line-up is over?"

"Yeah, it's over," Mike grumbled. "For now…"

Dustin shuddered as he left the room.

* * *

"How do you plead?" the judge asked.

"Not guilty, your honor," Corinne declared.

"How do the people stand on bail?" the judge inquired.

"The people request remand, your honor," Claire answered. "The defendant violently murdered a man to act out a board game."

The judge nodded. "Mr. Robinette?"

"I believe that my client should be released on her own recognizance," Paul replied. "She has strong ties to the community and a stated hatred of anywhere outside of Manhattan."

"I think she should be remanded _and _have a fine applied," Claire countered.

"Let go with a public apology and reparations!" Paul cried.

"Let's send her to Attica!" Claire called out.

"Forget this whole thing ever happened!" Paul insisted.

"We should execute her!" Claire shouted.

"Give her a key to the city!" Paul yelled.

"Counselors!" the judge spoke up, banging her gavel. "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourselves. The defendant will be released on bail, payable in cash or bonds, to the amount of two hundred thousand dollars."

As the court officer came to take Corinne back to Rikers until she could post bail, Paul came up to Claire. "The fact it's still not legal in the state of New York aside, do you even believe in the death penalty?"

"No," Claire admitted, embarrassed. "I am a little on the competitive side, though."

Paul smiled sympathetically. "I know exactly where you're coming from." He pulled out a blue motion paper. "Oh and you should probably have this."

Curiously, Claire opened it. "Motion to suppress…everything?"

* * *

"Your honor, this is outrageous!" Jack complained, his eyebrows quivering with indignation.

Judge Semple glanced up at him. "Let's try to avoid the histrionics, counselor."

"He wants to suppress all of our evidence!" Jack protested.

"With respect, all of your evidence warrants being tossed out and it's hardly my problem if, after throwing out everything that should be inadmissible, you have no case," Paul told him. "Perhaps you should have considered that when indicting on such a weak case."

"Our case isn't weak at all!" Jack insisted.

"We'll see," Paul said cryptically. "Let's start with the confessions."

"I see that your client apparently confessed twice," Semple noted. "After having been Mirandized a truly dizzingly amount of times."

"That may be so, your honor, but the first confession was given when my client had asked for a lawyer and before I arrived," Paul told him.

"She confessed and _then_ she asked for a lawyer," Jack argued. "It is perfectly legitimate."

"It was in the same breath and therefore part of the same sentence and therefore inadmissible as it was connected to the asking of the lawyer," Paul reasoned.

"She asked for the lawyer after confessing, probably because she knew that after confessing she'd need one!" Jack burst out.

Semple took out a coin and flipped it. "Sorry, Mr. McCoy, the first confession is out."

"Your honor!" Jack cried out, outraged. "You can't possibly make a ruling based on how the coin was flipped!"

"I can do anything I want," Semple insisted. "I'm a judge."

"I can appeal!" Jack threatened.

"You can," Semple agreed. "And see if I ever rule your way ever again."

"That's coercion!" Jack exclaimed.

"I didn't hear anything," Paul spoke up. "And I choose to believe that the act of flipping a coin is completely unconnected to Judge Semple's decision making process and it was just a way to help him think."

"I like it," Semple said, grinning. "Now, as to the second confession…"

"Why bother?" Jack demanded, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why don't you just flip the coin about all of it and not make us waste our breath?"

"I can do that if you'd like," Semple agreed. "It does seem rather unprofessional, though, and I'm a bit surprised at you, Mr. McCoy."

"The second confession is privileged since it was said to me, her attorney," Paul claimed.

"She was confessing to the police while you happened to be there!" Jack countered. "You can't rule that as privileged or else no confession would ever be admissible! If the lawyer isn't there then that's denying counsel and if they are then it's privileged!"

"From what I remember, confessions are _never_ admissible," Paul pointed out.

"It's usually not this blatant!" Jack shouted.

"Do try to lower your voice, Mr. McCoy," Semple requested.

"Your honor, I can assure you that, if asked, my client would say that she truly believed that she could say whatever she wanted to in front of the police detectives because my presence would keep it off the record," Paul promised.

"I'm sure she would and she might even believe it," Jack said, making a concentrated effort to stop shouting. "But it really doesn't matter. We have got to stop letting the bonehead beliefs of defendants let them do whatever they want to and pretending that we can't all prove that people are guilty for technical reasons!"

"Take it up with Albany, Mr. McCoy," Semple said, flipping the coin again. "Sorry, the second confession is out."

"Then there's the video of the crime," Paul said smoothly.

"What's wrong with that?" Jack demanded. "We had permission from the owner of the diner who is legally allowed to have a security camera watching his business and we also obtained a subpoena for it."

"That is true, Mr. Robinette," Semple allowed. "What appears to be the problem?"

"It's prejudicial, your honor," Paul explained. "It will make people think she did it."

"Maybe because she actually did it!" Jack exclaimed.

"You can't deny that if the jury watches this tape then there's no way they'll ever acquit her and so it will be interfering in my client's right to a fair trial," Paul claimed.

"You can't just say that the trial isn't fair because our evidence is _too_ good," Jack protested.

"Of course I can," Paul disagreed. "The only question is whether Judge Semple will go for it."

The judge flipped the coin. "I will, it seems. Sorry, Mr. McCoy."

"Your honor!" Jack yelled.

"Volume, Mr. McCoy," Semple said, wincing.

"Then there's the DNA evidence," Paul continued.

"What could possibly be wrong with that?" Jack wanted to know.

"It's just too generic. O positive is the most common blood type in America, you know. You can't build a case solely on that and I don't think it's even enough to point a finger at my client," Paul announced.

The judge reached for the coin.

"Let me see that," Jack said, leaning over.

Quickly, Semple flipped it. "It seems Mr. McCoy wins that one. The DNA evidence can stay."

"Thanks for that," Jack said sarcastically. "Why do we even bother with DNA when it's clearly useless?"

"Well then here's my motion to dismiss since the people have virtually no case aside from the presence of someone with the most common blood type available," Paul said, handing over another motion.

"That is the thing I hate most about defense attorneys," Jack grumbled.

"What is?" Paul asked.

"You sit there and eviscerate my case and then before I have room to breathe you try to throw the remains of my dying case out the window," Jack replied.

"Your problem, not mine," Paul said, unconcerned.

"Well how about it, Mr. McCoy?" Semple asked. "Do you think you have enough to sustain your case?"

"I swear to you, your honor, that I will literally do anything no matter how illegal to get a conviction," Jack said solemnly, holding up a hand.

Semple eyed him speculatively for a moment. "I believe you. Very well, I'm denying the motion to dismiss."

"Your honor!" Paul objected.

"Don't be such a sore loser," Jack said, not a little hypocritically.

* * *

"And in short, my client is really only on trial here because she is black and the cops are always looking to arrest a black man or woman," Paul concluded his opening statement. "If my client was white then the district attorney's office would never have _dreamed _going to trial with such flimsy evidence as they've got. My God, they had six witnesses to the crime all fail to identify my client in a police line-up! The so-called DNA 'evidence' could apply to a good third of the population! I hope that I can trust you, good members of the jury, not to be as racist as the district attorney's office obviously is. After all, if Jack McCoy isn't racist then why is my client on trial? And why hasn't he ever had a black assistant? Think about it. And if you convict my client then you're all racists, too."

There was some uncomfortable shuffling in the jury box.

"I think you'd go to trial with even flimsier evidence no matter what the client looked like just because you could," Claire murmured.

"Only if Adam would let me," Jack whispered back.

"Mr. McCoy, please call your first witness," Semple instructed.

* * *

Adam was waiting for them when the trial was over for the day with a week's worth of newspapers in his hand. "This will not get off the front page!" he complained. "And I'm really sick of reading about how racist we all are. What were the police thinking getting all of this evidence in a non-admissible way? They continue to be useless. Make a deal."

"What if he won't accept it?" Claire asked. "As someone who has worked in the district attorney's office he'll know that we only make deals to secure testimony, if we feel sorry for them, or if we don't have a case."

"Try anyway," Adam barked. "And if he won't deal…well, I'll just have to call in the big guns."

* * *

"I'm not going to make a deal," Paul announced before he even sat down. "I know you're only calling us down here because you're desperate and Adam made you."

"Then why did you come?" Jack inquired curiously.

"I wanted to see what you'd come up with," Paul replied. "And my client wanted to see your office."

Corinne wrinkled her nose. "It is a _really _boring office. I expected something flashier. Paul's office is flashy."

"I didn't decorate my office to please you, Ms. Baskerville," Jack said gruffly.

"It's a good thing, too," Corinne replied. "Because you did not please me at all."

"So what's your offer, Jack?" Paul asked.

"Murder two, twenty-five to life," Jack replied.

Paul stared at him. "You do realize that that is the maximum sentence my client is facing should she lose this trial?"

Jack nodded. "I do."

"Then what do either of us get out of agreeing to this?" Paul demanded.

"You don't have to go through a trial," Jack said simply.

"Man two, she does five years," Paul suggested.

"No," Jack said, staring piercingly at them. "Murder two, twenty-five to life."

"You must be out of your mind," Paul said, insulted, as he stood up.

"Fine," Jack said reluctantly. "I will consider taking the death penalty off of the table."

"The death penalty was never _on _the table!" Paul exclaimed. "First Claire and now you. This hardly qualifies as murder one even if you look at this from the least sympathetic viewpoint imaginable."

"I think it does," Jack argued.

"The most unsympathetic viewpoint imaginable that's still tenuously connected to reality, then," Paul amended. "And aside from that, New York is not a death penalty state!"

"It might be someday soon," Jack said ominously.

"And that day is not today," Paul said with an air of finality. "Let's go Corinne. We have literally nothing to lose by going to trial."

As the door slammed behind them, Claire spoke up, "Adam is going to kill you."

"What?" Jack asked innocently. "He said deal and I tried to deal. Is it my fault he wouldn't listen?"

"Yes," Claire said immediately.

"Well as long as Paul doesn't go _tattle_ on me then I think I'm fine," Jack said confidently.

* * *

"He wouldn't deal," Jack announced as he walked into Adam's office.

"And I'm sure that you tried very hard," Adam said sarcastically. He glanced at Claire.

"This is the part where I plead the fifth," she said, holding up her hands.

A low chuckled filled the room. "You've corrupted her, Jack."

That was when they noticed Adam's visitor.

"Ben!" Claire exclaimed, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Adam told me about Paul opposing you in this case and he invited me down here to see for myself," Ben explained.

"I want him to make sure that Paul hasn't lost his damn mind," Adam elaborated. "He's accusing everyone in sight of being racist. It's only a matter of time until he says that the victim was racist and he's black, too!"

"And how will Ben be able to help?" Claire asked, confused. "Not that I doubt your skills or anything, it's just-"

"I quite understand," Ben assured her. "But Paul and I had a very good working relationship and I'm confident that I can find out what's going on here."

"If Paul can accuse Ben of being racist with a straight face after all the times he told him that he had to stop being so color-blind and consider the racial implications then he's just too far gone for anyone to be able to help him," Adam informed them.

"I'll do what I can," Ben said modestly.

"So…" Claire said pointedly.

They all turned to look at her.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You two know each other then?"

"Of course we do," Jack answered. "We were the top two prosecutors Adam had."

"And you two…get along?" Claire prompted.

"Reasonably well, yes," Ben replied. "Why? Is that strange?"

"Well…not _exactly_," Claire said slowly. "It's just really not what I had expected."

"Why not?" Ben asked her.

"You two are just so very different," Claire explained. "Extremely different. Almost obscenely different. I would have expected you to be a bit more…adversarial. Rivals, perhaps."

Jack laughed. "Rivals? Us? How would that go?"

Claire shrugged. "Oh, I don't know…"

"No, no, you can't do that!" Jack insisted. "You brought this up and now you have to paint the picture for us."

"That does sound interesting," Adam agreed.

Claire turned to her last hope.

"Sorry, Claire," he said apologetically. "I've never had a rival before and so I find myself rather intrigued."

"I don't know," Claire said again. "I sort of expected Ben to hate Jack because of his complete and utter disregard for anything but the letter of the law – if that – and morality as well as his determination to do whatever it takes to win."

Ben shot Jack a questioning look.

"I'm proud of it," Jack assured him.

"And as for Jack, I thought he'd dislike Ben for his constant campaign to end up a saint," Claire finished.

"I'm not trying to be a saint," Ben disagreed immediately.

"Ben, you quit when you accidentally were vaguely involved with a witness dying," Adam pointed out.

Ben looked down. "I crossed a line…"

"Jack's gotten five witnesses killed since we first started working together," Claire informed him.

"And those are just the ones she knows about," Jack confided.

"There's more?" Claire asked, startled. "No, wait, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"That doesn't…bother you?" Ben asked uncertainly.

"I don't see how it's my fault that my forcing witnesses to testify gets them killed," Jack said indifferently. "They really should have thought of that before witnessing a crime."

"If only I'd given Jack that baby food case then Ben would still be here," Adam said ruefully.

"You still have me," Jack reminded him.

Adam just waved a hand at him.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Claire mused. "He looked pretty close to quitting about that race riot case."

"I wouldn't have quit over that; Adam helped me come to terms with that," Ben told her.

"See, that's exactly what I mean!" Jack cried out.

"What?" Claire asked, startled.

"If we were to have a rivalry about anything then it wouldn't be prosecutorial styles but rather how Ben is Adam's clear favorite," Jack said, crossing his arms in something that looked suspiciously like a sulk.

"Ben gave me far less trouble than you did and actually listened to me when I told him to do or not do something. And he legitimately tried to get me deals! When he disagreed with me he told me he'd do it anyway," Adam replied.

"That's not really a denial," Jack pointed out.

"No, I don't suppose it is," Adam said thoughtfully.

Ben smiled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Adam."

"If you ever want to come back to work for me I will hire you on the spot," Adam vowed.

"I'll keep that in mind," Ben promised. "Although I was actually thinking of travelling around Europe for awhile. After that…who knows?"

"I'm not giving up my office," Jack declared. "Or Claire."

"We'll see," Adam said indulgently.

* * *

"Ben, it's good to see you again," Paul said, actually sounding pleased to see him.

Ben shook Paul's hand. "I heard that we came very close to meeting in the courtroom ourselves. Shambala Green told me that she had to fight you to represent Isaac Roberts."

"I remember that case," Paul said wistfully. "Even with all those citations Shambala Green got she had a lot more publicity. And she didn't even use it…"

"You would have represented a man that you knew brutally murdered an innocent man because he was mad at another white man?" Ben asked shocked.

Paul winced. "Oh, don't look at me like that! Everyone's got to have a lawyer, you know that."

"That lawyer doesn't have to be you," Ben replied.

"It doesn't have to _not _be me either," Paul countered.

"What happened to you, Paul?" Ben asked earnestly. "How could you go from someone who despised race-baiters to someone who thinks he can win a trial by calling everyone racist?"

"Well, I did win a few trials by doing exactly that and that's probably where that belief came from," Paul told him. "And you wouldn't even be asking me that if you weren't ra-if you weren't rac-if you…Damn, I can't say it."

"You can't say what?" Ben asked.

"I can't accuse you of being racist," Paul complained.

"I'm glad to hear it," Ben said, pleased.

"You're just too earnest and moralistic and refusing to concern yourselves with racial concerns in the face of the facts and crimes committed," Paul said, annoyed. "It's a good thing we didn't go up against each other or I might have to just stick to the facts."

"I don't see how that's a bad thing, Paul," Ben said slowly.

"I don't always have a case if I stick to the facts," Paul pointed out.

"And that is when plea bargains are made," Ben replied.

"When we seek a plea bargain we're not bargaining from a position of strength no matter which side of the aisle we're seated on," Paul reminded him. "You know that."

"What happened?" Ben asked again.

Paul sighed. "Do you remember what I said when I first left the DA's office?"

Ben leaned forward and nodded. "You said that you had put your time in at the DA's office and really felt like you made a difference and helped people. You said that now you had this really lucrative offer from Wall Street and you were going to go make a lot of money."

"I did make a lot of money," Paul said fondly. "But I didn't really like the work. I thought I'd have to choose when I stumbled upon defense attorney work."

"Are you really telling me that you're in this for the money?" Ben couldn't believe it. "You'd sell out everything you ever believed in and mimic those that you once despised for a paycheck?"

"I don't think you appreciate just how much money I'm getting," Paul remarked.

"It's wrong," Ben said quietly.

"It's not illegal to do what I do and it can't possibly be unethical to defend someone who needs a lawyer," Paul reasoned.

"But do you have to call everyone a racist?" Ben asked. "_Must _everything be about race?"

Paul shrugged. "It's not my fault everyone lets me get away with it."

"You have a moral responsibility," Ben said seriously.

"I have a moral responsibility to zealously represent my client and how can you get more zealous than accusing everyone of being racist?" Paul wondered.

"It's almost like you worked with _Jack_," Ben said, shaking his head. He paused. "And don't tell Claire I said that. It will fuel her theories."

* * *

"I don't see why you're putting me on the stand," Mike told him. "I really can't say anything all that vital to the case."

"I don't need you to be a _good_ witness. I just need you to be a witness," Jack insisted.

"Why can't you have Lennie do it?" Mike demanded.

"I am," Jack assured him. "I need both of you to pad out my case."

"If you put me on the stand then Paul will probably ask about how I 'traumatized' his client," Mike cautioned him.

Jack groaned. "Really, Mike? You traumatized Corinne?"

Mike held up his hands. "What? I didn't do anything."

"You sound like you just admitted it," Jack reminded him.

"I said traumatized in air quotes," Mike declared.

"Fine, how did you 'traumatize' her?" Jack asked, trying to be patient.

Mike shrugged. "Well, I was left alone in the interrogation room with her while Claire, Van Buren, and Lennie were making nice with Paul and-"

Jack groaned. "Stop right there. I don't even want to know, do I? Do I have to worry about being called upon to prosecute you, too?"

"Why does everyone immediately jump to that conclusion?" Mike wondered. "Van Buren accidentally called me 'Rambo' yesterday."

"She did?" Jack asked.

Mike nodded. "Oh, yeah. I told her to stick to 'McClane' which she called me last week."

"You are not filling me with confidence here, Mike," Jack complained.

"Neither are you, Jack," Mike countered. "Look, all that happened was that we talked for a bit until she started freaking out and claiming that I looked like I wanted to punch her."

Jack waited but that appeared to be it. "And…_did_ you want to punch her?"

"I always want to punch the perp," Mike admitted easily.

"And you wonder why people always suspect the worst," Jack said, rolling his eyes.

"But I _don't_!" Mike protested. "Unless, of course, they shot a partner of mine but that's pretty much license to kill in my book."

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that," Jack said, sighing. "It's not a lie if you believe it, it's not a lie if you believe it…"

"So why do you need to pad your case out so much anyway?" Mike demanded, turning the tables. "We gave you a really solid case! Sure the eyewitnesses are some of the most useless we've ever seen-"

"And the defense is calling them _all _to the stand," Jack interrupted.

"That shouldn't be a problem since they won't admit they saw the crime at all so they can't possibly clear Corinne," Mike assured him. "But aside from that we have _two_ confessions, DNA evidence, and a videotape of the crime!"

"She was asking for her lawyer at around the time of the first, her lawyer was present making the second privileged communication, DNA evidence is apparently useless, and it's prejudicial," Jack recited morosely.

"What kind of moronic judge do you have?" Mike asked, appalled.

"Apparently one who fancies himself Two-Face," Jack said, rubbing his temple.

"I knew that we shouldn't have bothered with that confession, I just knew it!" Mike exclaimed. "In fact, why do we even bother Mirandizing them? We should just not ever ask anything of the people we arrest since we'll never get to use it in court anyway."

"Hey, that's not fair," Jack protested. "We get to use it in court nearly a third of the time."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Because that makes it _so_ worth it. We give you a near-perfect case and you completely destroy it!"

"Don't blame me, blame Paul and Judge Two-Face!" Jack shot back. "But if you want to cut corners in the future then don't even bother me with DNA evidence. It is _never_ helpful. Ever. I mean, give it ten years and we'll see but as for right now…"

"Now you know how I feel about confessions but, unlike with you, I actually have to work to get both and you get it all handed to you and then quickly lose it," Mike said, shaking his head.

"Confessions can't be that bad," Jack claimed. "Even if you do manage to get faulty ones every time."

"I swear, it's like they set it up so we can't keep it," Mike groused. "They at some point ask for someone who we have no way of knowing is a lawyer, probably just to screw with us, and the judge is always on their side. Why do they even bother confessing in the first place if it's protected?"

"Probably _because _it's protected," Jack theorized.

"Are we going to lose this case?" Mike asked seriously.

Jack shook his head. "No, we're not. I've got a plan. All you need to do is ramble on for as long as possible on every question I ask so it looks like we're proving our prima facie case before I do whatever I want in order to get a conviction."

* * *

"Ms. Baskerville, isn't it true that you confessed to the police just before asking for your attorney?" Jack inquired.

"Objection," Paul said, standing up.

"Sustained," Semple replied, banging his gavel.

Jack ignored them. "You said, and I quote, 'Well I don't want to tell you why I killed him.' Detective Briscoe then asked 'Is that a confession?' You replied ,'Yeah, I guess so. I'd like a lawyer.' Clearly you asked for a lawyer _after _you confessed and if our judge wasn't such an idiot then he'd have made it admissible in the first place."

"Hey!" the judge objected. "Move along, Mr. McCoy."

Jack nodded. "And then let's talk about your second confession, Corinne."

"Objection!" Paul said again. "He can't just ignore the fact that he can't do these things!"

"Sustained," Semple said. "Stop it, Mr. McCoy."

" 'This is boring,' you said. 'If I tell you that I killed him then can I go?' Mr. Robinette said, 'Corinne, I really don't advise this.' 'That's great,' you said. 'Why did you kill him?' asked Ms. Kincaid. 'Are you kidding me? His name was _Mr. Boddy_. Where else was I going to find another Mr. Boddy? It was the opportunity of a lifetime!' you said. Detective Briscoe said, 'Because of Clue.' You said, 'I always promised myself that if I ever got the chance that I'd reenact one board game someday. It's Mr. Boddy's bad luck that I found him before I found a Princess Lolly.' Detective Briscoe asked, 'Which weapon did you use?' You said, 'Detective! I'm surprised at you! You know that that's not how this works. _You _have to tell me. You might have the who and the where but the what's just as important. And unlike in the game you actually got to see the body.' As anyone with a brain can see, this was clearly not privileged as it was an interview with the police."

"Mr. McCoy," Semple said dangerously.

"And finally we have the actual videotape of the crime taking place. Play 'People's I don't care if I can't submit this into evidence because I'm going to show it to the jury anyway'," Jack instructed.

"Oh, you can't just let him play that!" Paul protested. "Objection!"

"Sustained," Judge Semple agreed. "Mr. McCoy, turn that off."

"In a minute," Jack said vaguely even as the jury watched the clear picture of Corinne hitting Eisele over the head.

"No further questions," Jack said despite the fact that Corinne hadn't actually said anything to him during the entire cross.

"Your honor, approach," Paul requested, stalking to the judge practically before he had beckoned them forward.

"Mr. McCoy has ignored each and every ruling you made about not showing inadmissible material to the court and he's done it deliberately and maliciously," Paul complained.

"It was hardly malicious," Jack argued. "It was done in the name of justice."

"I don't care if it was done in the name of Adam Schiff, I demand a mistrial!" Paul declared.

Semple flipped his coin. "Sorry Mr. Robinette."

"I'll appeal!" Paul threatened.

"And I've come around to your belief that he's just using the coin to help him think and making his decisions independently of it," Jack said smugly.

"This court is racist," Paul announced.

As they walked back to their seats, Semple said, "The jury will disregard all of Mr. McCoy's improperly submitted inadmissible evidence which means strike the entire cross."

"Which means that's the only evidence they'll pay attention to," Claire translated.

Jack was unrepentant. "It should have been admissible in the first place. If people would stop telling me I can't do things then I'd stop having to do things I'm not allowed to do."

* * *

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" Semple asked.

The foreperson nodded.

"You can always tell what they're going to do based on how they look," Jack whispered. "The graver they look the more likely they are to have convicted because now they bear the weight of the sentence."

"And what's this?" Claire whispered back.

"Definitely guilty," Jack predicted.

"For the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, how do you find?" Semple asked.

"We find the defendant guilt," the foreperson declared.

"See, I told you," Jack said triumphantly.

Paul came over to see him.

"Jack, you have got to be the most unscrupulous prosecutor I've ever met," Paul told him, shaking his hand. "Had I known you while I still worked at the DA's office I probably would have killed you."

"But now?" Jack asked.

"Have you ever considered branching out?" Paul asked.

"Why do people keep trying to get me to join the dark side?" Jack wondered.

Claire just laughed. "Don't worry about it. Now come on, let's go get a drink and celebrate."

* * *

Lennie was looking excited as he sat down at his desk across from Mike's.

"Did you find somebody who could ID the body?" Mike asked.

Lennie shook his head. "No, I'm still working on that."

"Then what?" Mike asked.

"I just got word that the Clue Case was wrapped up," Lennie informed him.

Mike made a face at the cutesy epithet the paper had given the trial. "It's about damn time. I still can't believe that it stayed on the front page every day since the arrest."

"It's not every day you get such a fun case," Lennie pointed out.

Mike stared at him. " 'Fun'? Lennie, a man was brutally murdered because of his name and some psychotic woman with far too much money and time on her hands."

"I'm just telling you that it sounds like a lot more fun than some of the other cases we do," Lennie said, undeterred. "And she'll have a lot more time on her hands now since she was convicted."

"With virtually no admissible evidence?" Mike couldn't help but be impressed. "Even though he never should have lost it all in the first place, Jack really is a miracle worker."

"Nah, he just said everything he wasn't supposed to say anyway," Lennie replied.

"And he didn't get a mistrial? That's even more miraculous," Mike said, whistling. "They'll probably get killed on appeals but, well, who really cares about that? It's certainly not our area."

"No, thank goodness," Lennie agreed.

"So why are you so happy about this?" Mike asked. "I mean, it's always nice to hear we got a conviction but normally you're not this…enthused."

Lennie grinned. "It's just finally time to say something that I've been wanting to say since this case began."

Mike realize what was happening immediately and winced. "No, don't…"

Lennie appeared not to hear him. "It was Corrine Baskerville in the diner with the wrench!"

That was when the pens on Mike's desk mysteriously found themselves flying in Lennie's general direction.

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